


Mirage

by PeppDream (Pep_Pizza)



Series: Paramnesia [1]
Category: Dream Team - Fandom, Dreamwastaken, GeorgeNotFound - Fandom, dreamnotfound - Fandom, gream
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, And Sapnap is a middle-man that's just there, Angst, Crushes, Denial, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Dream is sort of that one rich party kid, Dream seems to have a lot of secrets, Gay, George is the pretty nerd that falls for the rich party kid, I swear that wasn't the intention lol, I'm getting Never Again vibes from this wtf, LMAO, M/M, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Plot Twists, Protectiveness, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Wistful, because i love those, dreamnotfound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28781874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pep_Pizza/pseuds/PeppDream
Summary: “Dream, I don’t… I don’tunderstand.”“You don’t need to understand,” Dream glowers, “I saidno, George.”“Maybe you’re verbally saying no,” George argues, “Maybe you don’t want to admit it to yourself, but I can see it Dream, I’m not fuckingblind. Because I— Iwantyou, Dream. And Iknowyou want me too.”Dream shuts his eyes. “Protectiveness and love aren’t the same thing," he snaps tiredly.--George is whipped — because Dream is tall, freckled, beautiful, and has a laugh that can cure cancer.And Dream is probably interested in him too, if the fact that he keeps popping up everywhere George goes isn't proof enough of that.But what George doesn't get is just why Dream is so intent on pushing him away.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), dreamnotfound - Relationship
Series: Paramnesia [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119716
Comments: 122
Kudos: 418





	1. Heat Haze

**Author's Note:**

> I AM SO READY FOR THIS ONE, SERIOUSLY- BE PREPARED FOR A WHAMMER  
> This fic is inspired by the song "[Roxanne](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=16YnOUnbE6s)" (and a whole ton of other things as well, though it'd be a confusing hassle to list them all, so I'll be stuffing references all over the chapter titles instead, and that's gonna have to be good enough -3-)
> 
> Friendly reminder that this is dnf, don't read if you're uncomfortable with shipping! I hope you enjoy :)

“I’m starting to have second thoughts about this.”

“George,” Sapnap snickers, ringing the doorbell, “There’s no going back now — we’re already here!”

“I know, but—”

“Don’t be such a wuss!” his friend teases. The door opens for them and Sapnap is pushing George in, “C’mon!”

George stumbles into chaos: loud music blaring in the background, red cups strewn everywhere, half-naked bodies present in every corner of the party. Some are dancing wildly, others appear to be smoking crack, and a few are already knocked out on the couches. The regret is already present, simmering in his gut. George’s eyes distastefully graze past all the attendants, wondering just how Sapnap managed to convince him coming was a good idea, until his eyes land on someone and he freezes.

There’s something about him — George can’t explain it. Maybe it was his shiny blonde hair, maybe it was his perfect jawline, or maybe it was those cute freckles dotting his cheeks. George’s heart is pounding way too fast at the sight of some stranger he’s never even seen before, but George can’t help _staring_ , because _fuck._

He’s the hottest guy George has ever seen.

Sapnap is still dragging them along, and that’s when George realizes with a flicker of awe (and maybe slight panic) that they’re headed _straight to the guy._

“Yo Dream, there you are!”

 _Dream?_ George thinks faintly, _This is Dream?_ And when Dream turns to look at them, George feels like his heart stops beating. Close up, he’s so much more _beautiful_ , to the point that it’s making the neurons in George’s head go crazy.

 _Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to come to this party after all_ , he decides.

“Hey Sap,” Dream greets, his baritone voice nothing short of music to George’s ears, but his eyes completely slide past George, as if he were only someone in the background — as if he were someone not worth noticing. George feels his insides sink a little in disappointment.

“Dream,” Sapnap starts, gesturing dramatically in George’s direction, “meet George. George, say hi to Dream.”

Dream’s eyes finally move to him, and the look in them is enough to make chills crawl down his spine. _Cold_ , George observes, _and_ _indifferent_. There’s something about the way he looks at him, gaze so hard, that George half-wonders if he might’ve done something in the past to offend him.

But despite the swirling animosity in his eyes, George still thinks Dream is beautiful.

“H-hi,” he manages to mumble, and as soon as his introduction is over, Dream’s eyes snap back to Sapnap. George would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little disheartened by the reaction.

“Dream,” Sapnap snorts, “At least greet him back, you dumbass.”

Dream gives a curt nod. “Hey,” he says, “George.” George feels a shiver, hearing his name come from Dream’s lips. God, he is so _whipped_.

“George, you wanna grab some drinks with me?” At the hesitant shake of his head, Sapnap shrugs. “Suit yourself. Point the way, Dream?” Dream jabs a thumb over his shoulder, and Sapnap goes flying away, sending a cheesy salute of farewell. “Thanks, man!”

Now it’s just them two. The silence is deafening. George’s nerves are fried, trying to find a balance between looking and not looking at Dream’s face. His _way too handsome_ face. Dream is the complete opposite of him, appearing completely composed as he leans against the wall, sipping disinterestedly from his red cup.

“So,” George starts.

Dream raises an eyebrow, but he still doesn’t look George’s way. The air is prickling with unsaid words, the atmosphere buzzing with an electricity that makes George’s palms tingle. George lets out a nervous breath of air, asks,

“Have we met before?” 

Dream’s eyes snap to him so fast, George almost gets a heart attack. “What?”

“You…” George feels like he’s squirming in his skin, uncomfortably hot from Dream’s intense stare. Those _eyes_ are doing things to him. “You look like you hate me. Did I ever do something to you?”

Dream looks like he wants to say something, but he only resolutely closes his eyes, avoiding giving an answer. George honestly isn’t sure what to do with this reaction, helplessly wondering why his question is being ignored.

He tries racking his brain for memories he might’ve had of Dream, and somewhere in the muddle of his thoughts, he vaguely recalls something Sapnap told him. _He’s a nice guy_ , Sapnap had said, _It’s fine being friends with him, as long as you don’t get too close._

_“Too close?” George had echoed._

_“Just don’t get dragged in,” was all Sapnap had added._

But what did that mean? How close was _too_ close? And was George perhaps an idiot, for wanting to do exactly that?

“So, how’ve my best pals been getting along?!” Sapnap breaks the silence, popping out from behind and slinging his arms around them. George jolts a little from surprise, and he rolls his eyes when he sees the already-hazy look on his friend’s face.

Dream chuckles, and George feels himself blushing from how much he likes the sound of it. “Sap, you’re drunk already?”

“...no.”

“You only left for like, five minutes,” George huffs in amusement, ”and you’re already going crazy.”

“I am _not_ ,” Sapnap denies, suddenly latching onto George’s wrist. “ _You’re_ the one that needs to loosen up, George. C’mon!” And without even a warning, George is being forcefully dragged away. He tries to catch one last glimpse of Dream over his shoulder, but they turn into the kitchen faster than expected.

George really hopes he’ll see Dream again later again tonight.

“Okay George, I’m going to pour you a glass of—“

“ _No_ Sapnap, I don’t _want_ it—“

“Come _on_ , just _try_ it! Just one sip.”

George begrudgingly holds the concoction Sapnap has created (if only because it looks like his friend might drop it on accident at any second), doubtfully eyeing its contents. “Are you sure?”

“ _Yes,_ George, just drink it! I promise it’s good~”

George hesitantly sips it, and just that was enough to leave a burning feeling in his mouth. It’s _strong._ “Sapnap,” he fake gags, “What did you _put_ in here.”

Sapnap hums innocently and starts counting on his fingers, “Whisky, bourbon, tequila, lemon juice—“

“Are you trying to _poison_ me??!”

Sapnap cackles at George’s disgusted expression. “It’s a shot straight to heaven~” he sing-songs.

“You are _so_ dumb,” George remarks, forcing the cup back into Sapnap’s hands. “Look, can’t I just… enjoy that orange juice over there instead?”

Sapnap looks where George is looking. “You mean the punch bowl.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

Sapnap snickers, says, “Sure George, whatever you want,” and proceeds to ladle him a serving. He’s almost being _too_ obedient, that George is starting to think there must be some sort of catch.

But, the drink tastes fine. It’s a mixture of apple and orange, a hint of lemon, and a strange tanginess that he can’t quite describe, and it’s _fine._ So why is Sapnap looking at him like that?

“What do you _want,_ Sapnap.”

“Nothing, nothing!” At his doubtful expression, Sapnap only giggles. “Look George, I’m gonna head out to the dance floor, so maybe go talk to some people, and come join me whenever you stop feeling like a party pooper.” And before George can even get a rebuttal in, Sapnap’s already run away.

George tries listening to Sapnap’s advice, but it’s hard to approach people without feeling like he’s butting in. Most groups of people are already formed around their own friend circles, and those who aren’t are usually the crazy-looking type. He doesn’t want to pull Sapnap away from his fun on the dance floor, and since his ride home won’t be available until at least an hour later, George settles for waiting. He isn’t really sure what he’s supposed to do, so he just spends the rest of the night mooching around and sipping at his weird orange juice (and keeping his eyes peeled for a certain blonde-haired individual. Unfortunately, Dream is nowhere to be seen). 

As the night wore on, George felt himself growing drowsy, but not in the sleepy way. His head was growing muddled and his movements became sloppy. George attributed it to the party’s atmosphere at first — maybe standing among these loud people and smelling their alcoholic breath was making his brain go funky. He wasn’t used to this sort of environment, and maybe his body was only reacting negatively to it.

But then it got so bad to the point where George couldn’t even walk straight and as he stared at that innocent-looking punch bowl, his mind clicked and he realized, without a doubt: he was drunk.

Damn it. No wonder Sapnap had been looking at him like that — he had known all along. George was such an idiot.

Silently cursing the orange juice, George fumbles his way over to an empty couch and flops onto it. He doesn’t understand how people can say that alcohol is for letting loose and feeling free; if anything, George feels awful. His head is spinning, his stomach is in knots. He’s taking back everything — coming here was _not_ a good idea. Parties sucked, period.

George suddenly feels a tingle. He looks behind him and… nothing. No one’s there. But why did it feel like someone was supposed to be? Who had George expected to see, Sapnap? How weird.

Puzzled by the phenomenon but, brain too slow to figure it out, George simply lets the matter go. He shuts his eyes closed, doing his best to block out the thumping signals in his brain, reverberating in tune to the bass of the music from the party.

When George opens his eyes, he’s no longer on the couch. Sapnap is shaking him awake and George can see that he’s in a car. When he peers out the window, he can sort of make out the blurry outline of his apartment complex.

“We’re almost at your place George,” Sapnap grins, “So try to wake yourself up a bit.”

Something about the situation feels off, but George is too busy feeling relieved to care. In his current drowsy state, all he wants is no more parties, and no more alcohol disguised as juice. Soon he was going to be home and there was nothing else he would have to worry about.

“Where’s Dream?”

“Dream?” A hint of confusion. ”He drove himself home.”

“Oh,” George frowns. His head feels hazy. “He’s not here?”

“Yeah dude, he owns a _car_. Rich bastard,” Sapnap laughs.

A fuzzy image of a sleek convertible comes to mind, and George lets himself humor the idea, imagining a pretty Dream leaning over his pretty car. “Cool,” he mumbles. Dream is cool. 

“Why’re you asking anyway? Did you two hit it off after I left?”

George doesn’t really remember what happened between them, his head too hazy to recount the memories. But now that his brain is on the topic of Dream, all he can think about is how amazing it’d feel to have the blonde’s lips on him, hands all over him, kissing all of him. 

“Sorry, what was that?” Sapnap cups his hand to his ear, “Repeat that again.”

George blinks, realizes he must’ve spoken aloud without realizing. “‘S nothing,” he lies. “Just fughettabout it.”

* * *

When George wakes up the next morning, he comes to the conclusion that forgetting about it was the only thing he _couldn’t_ do.

It’s embarrassing just following his train of thought from yesterday. George feels a blush crawl up his neck just from recalling the vivid imagery he’d conjured of him and Dream, completely locked in a passionate kiss. To think that he’d have thoughts like this with someone he’d _just_ met, and he was _Sapnap’s_ friend, no less.

Dammit. George hasn’t had a crush in a while, but he knows he’s definitely hard-falling for this Dream guy. And it probably wouldn’t be going away anytime soon.

As George crawls out of his bed and goes about his morning, he finds himself automatically searching for his crush’s social-medias. It’s pretty easy, since Sapnap was already their convenient mutual friend and all.

It’s still a frustrating search however, since Dream doesn’t post photos of himself online. There’s updates on which parties he’s attending, pictures of his cars (and turns out he did own a convertible!! What were the chances), and videos of him performing beer pong trick-shots from a first-person view. But as for the face of the man himself? Nowhere to be seen.

Well, that’s what it seemed like at first. But a little hunting around on his acquaintances’ profiles, and George was ecstatic to find a few treasures hidden here and there. They’re hardly ever good photos, always a quick pic for a poorly posed shot, usually blurred as Dream tries to escape the camera. He’s always smiling though, a nice change from the treatment George had received at the party. It’s… cute.

George doesn’t even think about it — just automatically downloads the photos to his camera roll. 

He spends the rest of his morning stalking his crush in this fashion, saving pictures between bites of his breakfast cereal. _I’m not creepy_ , George reasons, _just maybe… a little obsessed._

At least his camera roll was starting to look like a masterpiece, so George figures it’s all worth it.

George is tempted to ask Sapnap for Dream's number. The keypad lies there in his palm, a waiting taunt, but he doesn’t think it’s a good idea. Their first meeting was sort of weird to say the least, and there wasn’t any guarantee Dream would even feel the need to reply to him if he texted, since they weren’t _friends_.

George scrolls through a couple more social medias, feeling slightly dejected over his possibilities and wondering what he should do for the rest of the day, when he stumbles upon a new post. It’s just Dream announcing the next party he’ll be at, and it’s nothing too out of the ordinary from the theme of most of his posts. Still, the sight of it sends an excited shiver down George’s spine as he gets an incredibly idiotic idea.

He knows exactly where he’s going to be tonight.

* * *

George doesn’t own a car. George can’t _drive_ , to be more specific. And buses don’t run this late at night, either.

So George chooses to walk. The address, though not explicitly stated in Dream’s post, could be inferred from the posts of all his acquaintances, and George doesn’t think it’s too far. He thoroughly researches the location so that he won’t get lost, and about an hour prior to the party, George is headed out of his apartment, ready to enact his plan.

The plan which, of course, was to see Dream. He can’t just _talk_ to him out of the blue without seeming weird, so George will have to play it off as a coincidental meeting. Yeah, that would work. Dream might not be happy to see him, but he shouldn’t _hate_ George’s presence either. (George has already thought all day about all the things he might’ve done to piss Dream off — but nothing comes to mind.)

It was a flawless plan. Except, something unexpected happens, and the plan sort of goes to shambles.

George had just been walking along the sidewalk, minding his own business, balanced on the curb like some tightrope walker. Call him weird, but he’s just bored — he has some ways to go still. And he isn’t embarrassed to be seen, since not many others are around. It’s already quite late, but the street lights cast a shy glow onto his path, as if illuminating his way. George isn’t really paying attention to what’s in front of him — he’s just focused on his feet moving one in front of the other, and making turns when he needs to.

So it shocks him, when a car suddenly skids to a stop dangerously close to the curb. George nearly jumps out of skin, skittering back onto the safety of the sidewalk. He curses silently and is just about to cuss out the driver when his eyes land on the all-too-familiar convertible, and his heart drops into his gut.

Dream sits in the driver’s seat, face resolutely pointed forwards. “Get in.”

It takes George a second to snap out of his stupor. “What?”

“You’re going to the party aren’t you?” 

“But…” George stands awkwardly, eyes darting all over the flashy car, “are you sure?”

“You’re Sapnap’s friend, so just consider it a favor,” Dream continues, only slightly inclining his face in George’s direction. When George still doesn’t move, Dream rolls his eyes. “Look, you don’t need to _walk_ there, idiot — just let me give you a ride.”

 _What in the world is happening_ , George thinks to himself. _Why is he being so nice?_ “I—”

“ _Just get in the car._ ” The phrase is terrifyingly strong, commanding. It bends George’s weak will easily, as if he were only a submissive servant. Just the thought is enough to make George shiver.

 _It’s not an offer_ , George realizes. _It’s an order_. He doesn’t have a choice. 

Not that he minds, really.

“Okay,” he swallows, “Thanks.”

Some awkward greetings and seatbelt fumbling later, and they’re cruising along. George’s heart is pounding too loudly in his chest, his skin feels like it's on fire, and he can’t stop how his eyes keep flickering over to Dream. To his surprise, Dream doesn’t appear as composed as he did their first time meeting. He seems distracted, finger tapping on the wheel, looking every which way as if he’s searching for something.

They don’t talk to each other — George has no good conversation topics to bring up anyway. But in the middle of the ride, when George’s mind has finally calmed down some, he suddenly realizes something. “How did you know?”

“Hm?”

“How did you know where I was going?”

A beat of silence. “Because,” the edge of Dream’s mouth quirks up, “I know you love parties.”

What? “I don’t though.”

Dream peers at him from the corner of his eye, and George’s soul tingles from the stare. It’s like Dream’s looking right through him, as if he can see everything about him.

“I know,” is all he says. And somehow, though they barely knew each other, George felt like Dream meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going to take maybe 1-2 chapters to get the basic/background stuff down so please remain patient, I promise there's a lot of good stuff waiting in the future :)


	2. Two Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh my god. THANK GOD. Holy shit.” Dream’s hands are clasped onto George's shoulders. His arms are shaking. “George. _George_.”
> 
> George stares back, wide-eyed and uncomprehending. “Y-yeah?”
> 
> Dream’s eyes are fierce. “You almost fucking _died_.”

They had split up upon reaching their destination. After all, Dream was only giving him a ride and had no obligation to keep hanging out with him. There wasn’t really much George could do about it. It’s not like he could say “I actually came here to see you” or something weird like that.

So, George is going through a repeat of last time (but this time minus the alcohol incident). There’s a lot more people at this party, and though George would typically find that annoying, he’s actually quite relieved because the chances of someone asking who invited him are now less likely.

About an hour in though, George has to admit he’s reaching his limits. The booming stereo, the chattering of wild people, the smell of alcoholic breath — it was grating on George’s nerves. It only reinforces his bias: that he really _didn’t_ like parties. No more stalling, then — he needs to go look for Dream now before he completely regrets ever coming in the first place.

George had originally been avoiding Dream (half out of nervousness, the other half to avoid suspicion), but now he’s on full-detection mode, eyes scanning over the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom. There’s no sight of the blonde though. As he’s turning into the hallway, George pauses at the sound of that familiar voice:

“I think that I like you.”

“You do?”

George peeks around the corner, and his eyes widen. Dream has trapped another lankier man against the wall, propping one of his arms on the surface behind him in a determined kabedon. Their faces are only centimeters apart, their gazes no doubt locked on each other.

“Yeah,” Dream answers, and George’s heart sinks.

 _So this is what Sapnap meant_ , he realizes, _about getting dragged in._

George suddenly doesn’t know what to do with himself. What had he even come to this party _for?_ To get closer to Dream, or maybe to grab his attention… but what would it even matter if he was already interested in someone else?

Suddenly feeling like an idiot, George turns away and leaves. When he flees the house, stepping back into the frosty night, no one says goodbye. No stragglers are outside at this time of night, either. It’s just him and his foggy breath, clouding up the vision in front of him.

 _I’m so stupid_ , George thinks to himself, his heart wrenching in a way that it really shouldn’t. Dream was just a guy. A really hot guy, maybe, but still just a guy. It wasn’t worth getting hung up over him — it’d be best if he just forgot about him.

George shouldn’t have gone to the party.

Hanging his head low, he keeps trudging along, sneakers dragging along the concrete. He really doesn’t want to think about what just happened, so he settles for listening to the repetitive clanging of metal instead. _Some sort of construction must be going on,_ he reckons. At least it’s a good distraction.

The distraction is also getting louder. George realizes he must be getting closer to the source of it — the clanging buries the distant twinkle of wind chimes. A quick survey of his surroundings shows no indicator of any construction, but at the sound of something screeching above him, George looks up.

The arm of a crane is dangling over the edge of the skyscraper above him, and almost like a slow-mo movie, George watches in stunned silence as the metal poles hanging from the hook suddenly start to slip out—

“GEORGE!”

A force collides into him and George goes flying, tumbling across the concrete and onto the street, sunglasses clattering onto the ground, elbows knocking against concrete and air forced straight out of his lungs. And almost immediately, exactly where George was standing just seconds ago, the gigantic construction materials slam into the ground with a resounding _crash_ that makes the whole world shudder.

Dust flies up everywhere, obscuring his vision. George’s heart is going a mile a minute, his head still ringing from the sound of the deafening crash. Shit, did he… 

Did he almost just die?

“ _George_.” It’s the voice of the man who pushed him. His hands are fumbling as they worry over him, simultaneously touching and not touching George. “Are you— are you okay?? Y-you...”

George lets out a small groan at the screaming protest of the skin he’s scratched on his palms. “I-I’m fine, it’s just a scratch, are you—“ A pause, when the dust clears some and he finally sees the shocking mop of blonde hair, an immediate blush making its way up to his cheeks. “Wait… Dream?”

“Oh my _god_. THANK GOD. Holy shit.” Dream’s hands are clasped onto George's shoulders. His arms are shaking. “George. _George._ ”

George stares back, wide-eyed and uncomprehending. What in the world was _Dream_ doing here? “Y-yeah?”

Dream’s eyes are fierce. “You almost fucking _died._ ”

George swallows, looks at the wreckage just a few feet away from them. He can hear some people shouting from the top of the skyscraper, and he wonders if they have any clue on what they’ve almost caused. “I… I guess so.”

Dream looks at him for a thick second before shouting, “What is WRONG with you?! How the _fuck_ are you so _CALM?”_

And George realizes, _oh._ He _is_ weirdly calm about this whole thing. “I-I dunno,” he stumbles. “I mean, sure I _almost_ died, but I didn’t _actually_ die because you saved me…” It was quite heroic, actually. Now with the chaos long behind them, George is starting to feel the remnants of his crush resurfacing again from how close they are to one another.

“You are SO STUPID. I leave you for _one_ second and you—” Dream groans, facepalming with clear frustration. He still has really pretty freckles too, George notices. “ _Fuck_ George, why did you _leave?_ Why didn’t you let me drive you back?”

And George suddenly recalls the events of the party, and his gratitude is quickly sinking away to be replaced by a sour taste in his mouth. “You looked busy,” George replies curtly, pushing Dream aside to stand up. His legs are a bit shaky but he manages just fine, finding his sunglasses just a few meters away.

“Busy,” Dream deadpans.

“Yeah,” George confirms, tucking the glasses back onto his forehead. He notices that Dream is watching the action with an emotion not too far from displeasure.

“...you are so immature,” Dream snorts, standing up himself. “What does it matter to you who I flirt with?”

George’s eyes widen. Did… did Dream catch him watching? “It… doesn’t,” he lies, embarrassed by the betrayal of his wavering voice.

“You could at least thank me for rescuing your ass.”

He’s right, of course. No matter what George thinks of Dream, the fact still didn’t change that he had saved his life. “Thanks,” George says, nervously patting down his jeans, “Really. Thank you.”

“Just don’t make this a habit.”

“Ha-ha,” George fake laughs. Dream’s ringtone suddenly starts playing but, after a single glance at the caller ID, he immediately hangs up. _Rude_. George feels bad for the caller on the other end. “Why did you leave the party so early anyway? I thought you were having fun _flirting_ with people.” Surely, it wasn’t to come looking for _George_. Then for what reason would Dream have left just to incidentally pass by him?

Dream’s mouth opens but, before he can respond, the front doors to the construction building are being thrown open by several panicked workers yelling, “Are you boys alright?!”

George never got his answer. And even when the commotion was all over and Dream was driving him home, he never found another opportunity to ask.

It isn’t until he’s left standing alone at his front door, fingers fumbling for his apartment keys, that he comes to a sudden halt and realizes — he’s never told Dream his address.

* * *

『 _Snapmap_ 』

yeah, I told him your address

why, you think he’s a stalker? Lololol

So, it looked like George was just being paranoid for no reason. And it also looked like Dream hadn’t said anything about his near-death experience, either. George ponders bringing it up, had even started to type it out, but at the last second decides not to say anything about it. What would even be the point, other than to needlessly worry his friend? He’s better off keeping this… whole crazy situation to himself.

『 _Snapmap_ 』

what were you doing at another party tho

don’t tell me u’ve actually started to enjoy them??

George deems the question not even worth answering. He returns to scrolling through Dream’s past feed (because he can’t _help_ it, okay), and sees an interesting post about a luncheon spot. It’s, quote-on-quote, Dream’s “favorite restaurant.” But when George looks at the attached picture, he’s mildly surprised. Unlike Dream’s expensive fashion sense, it appears rustic and simple, warm and cozy; it’s a location that _defies_ Dream’s aura. Yet this was his favorite place?

...why?

And because George is curious (and _definitely_ not because he’s still hard crushing on Dream), he makes a mental note to go check it out.

George checks out the address of the place to make sure it’s open, finds a bus route to take him there, tugs on his jacket, grabs his wallet, and he’s ready to go. He almost considers asking Sapnap to join him but then thinks better of it, realizing it’d be a hassle to explain his reasoning for going in the first place. 

George has taken the bus plenty of times. It’s kind of something you just become familiar with for not knowing how to drive. The stop he always goes to is usually several blocks away, but there’s a shortcut George always takes, a tiny back-alley hidden between a creepy antique shop and the convenience store he frequents. He’s literally just made it there and was about to take his first step in, when he’s suddenly violently tugged backwards by his hood.

George chokes a little at the force, whirling to shout, “What the _fuck—_ ”

“Are you _trying_ to die, George?”

George blinks, feels a simmer of heat rise up to his face. “D- _Dream?_ ” _Again_ ? Just the sight of him is enough to make George’s skin prickle with bees again. How did they keep bumping into each other like this? “Are you _actually_ stalking me.”

“Well, are you a wheat field?”

George frowns. “...what?”

Dream cringes at himself. “Nothing,” he hurries to brush it off. “Look, just stop trying to kill yourself. It’s literally not that hard.”

“I’m—“ George lets out an indignant huff, crossing his arms, trying not to look too obvious that he’s staring (because he is 100% staring at Dream’s _fucking fingerless gloves_ ). How the hell was he supposed to forget about Dream if he kept showing up in front of him on a silver platter, looking like a three-course meal? “I’m not going to _die_ from entering some stupid alleyway.”

“You _are_ going to die,” Dream completely refutes, jabbing his pointer finger into George’s chest, and George momentarily wonders if Dream can hear his heartbeat from the connection, “Because alleyways are _dangerous_ , you don’t _know_ what could be waiting for you in there, and you shouldn’t just be _strolling_ into them without a care in the world." 

“Well why _not?_ ” George retorts, confused as to why Dream even bothers to care, “I’ve gone through it plenty of times before, and I’ve always been _fine_.”

“Oh? So if I speed through a red light and live, you’re saying I should just keep doing it?”

“W-well, _no_ …”

“There we go. _Don’t_ go into the stupid alley, George.”

“ _Fine_ ,” George grumbles, slapping Dream’s hand away. Just because Dream saved him _once_ , he was suddenly acting like it was his _job_ to protect George or something. “What are you, my _mom?_ ”

Dream ignores the jab. “Where are you even going?”

George feels himself freeze. “Um…” he stalls, blushing upon realizing he can’t reveal the location without also revealing he’s been stalking Dream’s socials, “It’s none of your business.”

Without even missing a beat, “It wouldn’t happen to be a restaurant called Roxanne, would it?”

George freezes, unable to stop the flicker of guilt that makes its way to his expression. “Huh?” _The fuck?_

_Was Dream a goddamn mind-reader or something?_

“I knew it,” Dream sighs, his fingers rubbing at his brow in exasperation. “You’re seriously…”

“ _What?_ ” George retorts, feels his cheeks flare up with embarrassment. _God_ , if Dream could guess that much, it probably meant that he knew, right? And even that jab from the previous day, where he’d made fun of George for caring who he flirted with… it had to mean he was aware of how George felt about him.

George probably looked so pitiful in his eyes.

“Look,” Dream speaks up after a moment, “How about this: I’ll take you there tomorrow.”

George’s head snaps up at the offer. _Huh?_ “Whut?”

“I know what’s good there,” Dream continues, appearing unawares of George’s perpetual shock, “So it’d be better if I came along. Just promise me you won’t go today.”

George is flabbergasted. He wonders if it shows on his face, wonders what Dream is _thinking_. “Why not today?” he asks, though substantially quieter than he had intended. He’s just… so _confused_.

Dream jabs a thumb behind him and George sees it: a sleek, black motorcycle parked next to the curb. “Can’t really take you now,” he explains, “Only got one helmet.”

George’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens. “I…” _What are you planning? Why are you doing this?_

 _Why are you so_ confusing _?_

“O-okay,” he eventually answers, trying not to think too hard about what he just agreed to. He’s kind of too distracted by the thought of Dream rocking a motorcycle to use his brain anyway. “I won’t go today then.”

Dream seems simultaneously disappointed and relieved. It’s the weirdest thing ever. “Good,” he says, and suddenly his phone is ringing again and Dream stiffens. George realizes it’s the same song from the day before and, just like a repeat of yesterday, before it even reaches the first lyric Dream immediately hangs up the call.

“Who was that?” George asks out of curiosity. Could it be that guy Dream was flirting with yesterday? Then why would he keep refusing to pick up?

Dream doesn’t answer. Without even a glance back, he’s already turning away. “I’ll see you then,” he says in farewell.

Only a few strides and the rev of a motorcycle later, Dream is gone. George probably stands there for a couple minutes longer, but he’s not really keeping track of time, his mind completely tangled by the turn of events, lagged behind as it tries to catch up to the reality of what’s just happened.

 _So much for staying far away from him,_ George thinks to himself, finally starting back home. It’s not even his fault, that Dream keeps popping up everywhere around him. 

Though, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it.

* * *

“I’m not sure I like how easily Sapnap’s giving away all my personal information,” George jokes as he enters the passenger side of Dream’s car. It’s not the convertible this time, but rather a closed-in vehicle with an actual roof. _So he owns two cars_ , George observes, _definitely loaded_. “First my address, and now my phone number too?”

Dream snorts, a strangely annoyed expression on his face. “Believe me, I don’t either.”

George blinks awkwardly, upon realizing that unlike him, Dream wasn’t joking. “Oh.”

It’s always like this. George will say something dumb, Dream will reply with something confusing, and then they’d be launched into silence. Not that it matters, because George is _excited_. Here he is, sitting in the same car with his crush, going to a restaurant to eat together. It wasn’t a _date_ , unfortunately, but that was fine. George was _perfectly okay_ with this, and he’ll do his best to keep his distance too. He was here to have fun.

When they drive up to a stoplight, Dream is flicking through radio stations, probably to fill up the awkward nothingness between them, but he stops suddenly at the sound of a tune George finds vaguely familiar.

_🎵Roxanne, Roxanne, all she wanna do is party all night.🎵_

“Oh wow,” George chuckles, pleasantly surprised by the coinciding names, “What are the chances?”

But Dream appears frozen, eyes darting all over the intersection. His fingers are tapping on the wheel again, his leg jittering in his seat. _How weird_ , George thinks.

_🎵God damn, Roxanne, never gonna love me but it’s alright🎵_

“Um,” George tilts his head, “Why are you so anxious?”

Dream grits his teeth. “Bad memories,” he mumbles.

George raises an eyebrow, realizes, _Dream_ has _kind of been on edge this whole time_. Maybe the awkward silence had more to do with that than just George saying unconversational things. 

“Have you been in a car crash before or something?” His question is met with pained silence, and George feels like he suddenly understands. “Did… someone die?”

Dream’s face is resolutely trained forwards, but after a couple seconds, he lets out a long breath. “...yeah.”

“Oh,” George responds quietly, staring at his lap. That must’ve been… really shitty to go through. George knows the feeling better than anyone, and it’s weird knowing that he and Dream have that in common. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” Dream replies, soundly oddly wistful. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

_🎵She think I’m an asshole, she think I’m a player🎵_

_🎵She keep running back though, only ‘cause I pay up🎵_

George wants to ask about it, but he knows it’s not his place. Especially since they’re not that close, especially when Dream is looking as vulnerable as he does now. “Um, Dream?” George hadn’t been completely sure because of his color-blindness, but looking purely at the placement... “Isn’t the light green?”

“I know.”

George gives him a helpless look. “Then…?”

“Wait one sec,” Dream says, and almost right on cue, a car perpendicular to their street suddenly goes zooming across the intersection, barely missing the other vehicles as it safely reaches the other side. George has jumped up in his seat, eyes wide at the audacity of the dangerous feat.

“Holy _shit_ ,” he gasps, “That guy just…!”

“Yeah,” Dream mutters, his voice sounding strained. It’s only when the cars behind him start honking that he steps on the gas pedal. 

George feels like he’s missing something. Like something obvious is floating right over his head, and yet he still can’t grasp it. “How did you know?” he echoes wonderingly.

“I don’t know anything,” is Dream’s answer, and he sounds almost angry as he says it. “I can only… I can only do what I can. To keep safe.”

George bites his lip, ponders the statement. It makes sense, actually. For someone who’s lost someone from a car crash like Dream has, it’d be strange if he _wasn’t_ overbearingly careful at intersections. 

As the repetitive lyrics of _Roxanne_ descend back over them, George faintly wonders who must’ve died, for Dream to look so pained as he does now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream is all over the place  
> ...wonder y


	3. Sunkissed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re a tsundere,” he blurts.
> 
> As quickly as the blush appeared, it disappears. “ _No_ ,” Dream replies, vehemently. “No.”
> 
> “Then what was this, Dream?” George questions, gesturing wildly around them. “Why did you take me to your favorite restaurant, give me a ride in your fancy car, and pay for the entire thing? Tell me...” A pause of breath, “Tell me how this is _not_ a date.”

“Why’s it so empty?” is the first thing George notices. It’s as nice as it had looked in Dream’s photo, the atmosphere giving off a sort of serene glow because of the time of day, but the place is literally _devoid_ of other customers despite it being lunch hour, the time when restaurants would supposedly be the busiest.

“Do you not look at the news?”

“What do you mean?”

Dream presses his lips together. “Nothing. Come on, let’s sit over there.”

It’s a nice seat, directly against the window so that the orange sun can cast its rays onto their table. It’s left the couches and table-top all warm, and when George presses his hands onto them to absorb their warmth, he thinks he catches Dream rolling his eyes at him. Prick.

Dream thanks the waitress as she brings two glasses of water for them, and because George doesn’t know where to put his eyes, he settles for absentmindedly flipping through the menu instead. Dream wasn’t kidding — there were a _lot_ of options.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” the pony-tailed waitress asks.

“Yeah, we’ll order now,” Dream says, much to George’s confusion. As he goes off listing appetizers, sides, mains, and beverages to the waitress, George is left panic-flipping through the menu, silently cursing Dream for not even giving him any _time_ to make a decision. 

“And for you, sir?”

George’s eyes suddenly land on the breakfast page and, spotting a picture of a decent-looking blueberry waffle, he’d started to say, “I’ll get—“

“He’ll have the blueberry waffles,” Dream cuts him off, and George falls silent, staring at Dream in perpetual shock. “And that’ll be all.”

“Alright, and one blueberry waffle. Your order will be ready in around five minutes.”

“Thank you.” When the waitress finally leaves, Dream gives an amused hum. “What’s with the look?” he asks innocently, “Didn’t we already establish that I’d know what’s best to order?”

George swallows, ponders bringing up the uncanny coincidence of Dream reading his mind again. Out of all those items, what were even the chances they’d both pick the same thing?

“We’re not even eating breakfast,” is all he manages to say, and Dream laughs, but it sounds hollow.

“You’re the worst,” he comments but doesn’t explain himself, much to George’s annoyance. It was actually starting to become a pattern at this point, with how rarely Dream ever chose to explain his actions or words. Before George can fire a rebuttal, a ringtone is cutting through the air and Dream jumps a little from the sound. 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to hang up on them again,” George guesses, only for Dream to do exactly that. “Who is it anyway, your boyfriend?”

Dream snorts, repocketing his phone. “I don’t have one.”

“...but,” George frowns, “That guy from the party…”

Dream looks out the window. “Still not my boyfriend.”

“But, the flirting…?”

“I was turned down,” Dream answers, but there’s something about his expression that gives him away. It’s actually concerning, how easy it is to tell when Dream is lying.

Even without the entire truth, at least George now knows — the two aren’t together. It made him way happier than it should’ve.

“Well, whoever it is that’s calling you,” George remarks helpfully, “if you don’t want to talk to them, just block them.”

“It’s fine.”

“You literally _freeze up_ every time they call,” George disagrees, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think that categorizes as ‘fine’.”

Dream visibly hesitates at George’s keen observation. “It’s not because of the person,” he says, quietly.

George’s bewilderment only deepens. “Then why…?”

“It’s the song.”

“You mean… your ringtone??”

“Yeah.”

George is now _so_ confused. “If your ringtone bothers you, why don’t you _change_ it?”

“Avocado toast?” The waitress has returned, an untimely interruption to their conversation, and George gawks at the number of dishes sitting on her serving tray. Holy _shit,_ how many things had Dream ordered??

In just a few second’s time, their table is quickly laden with varying sides, treats, baskets, and drinks. When the waitress bids them goodbye, George shout-whispers, “You’re going to eat _all_ of that?”

“What? _No_. It’s for _us_ , George.”

George stares blankly at Dream, but the other doesn’t look back, only cutting into his dish. “You…”

He seems a little nervous as he continues, “It’s on me, okay? Don’t worry about the money — just dig in.”

George doesn’t know what to do with himself. Sometimes, Dream is intolerable — he’s rude and flashy and arrogant on so many levels. But then there’s times like this that catch him off-guard, and George will forget that he’s supposed to be keeping his distance. He’ll take one look at Dream’s golden locks, his sunkissed face, his lovely hands, and he just reverts back to that first day he saw Dream, a helpless fool that had been head over heels for someone he’d only just met.

Or, maybe he’s always been that way, and George was just fooling _himself_.

As George enjoys his meal (quietly admitting that, yes, Dream really _did_ know what dishes were best), he starts to notice a trend. The trend being, that Dream _never_ looks his way. Ever. He looks at his food, glances out the window, stares at his nails, but his eyes never find George, almost as if they were repelled by the sight of him.

It wasn’t really noticeable if he didn’t wait for it, but George was definitely waiting. And the more Dream avoided it, the more George wanted their eyes to meet, wanted those clear blue eyes to focus on him and only him.

 _They’re a really nice shade_ , George thinks wistfully, _the prettiest blue_.

With the two of them working together, they actually manage to demolish all the food Dream ordered. Just like he promised, Dream ends up paying for everything, _even_ the waffles (despite George’s protests). As they reboard Dream’s car, George feels something hum under his skin. The _need_ to have Dream look at him was starting to give him courage to say things he normally wouldn’t.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

And at the prompt, Dream seems to stir and he looks — _finally_ looks — his pretty blue eyes trained on George’s, and then to his surprise, the _faintest_ dust of pink appearing on Dream’s freckled cheeks. George does a double-take, wonders faintly, _was I supposed to see that?_

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dream quips, but again, the twitch in his jaw gives away that he’s lying. George’s brain is running on maximum power, trying to piece together all the clues he’s been given. He thinks back to how Dream offered him a ride to the party, how he lied about the guy he flirted with, how he was so intent on keeping him safe, and even how strongly he insisted on paying for their meal, and suddenly George thinks he understands. Dream may have done a good job hiding it, but...

“You’re a tsundere,” he blurts.

As quickly as the blush appeared, it disappears. “ _No,_ ” Dream replies, vehemently. “No.”

“Then what _was_ this, Dream?” George questions, gesturing wildly around them. “Why did you take me to your favorite restaurant, give me a ride in your fancy car, and pay for the entire thing? Tell me...” A pause of breath, “Tell me how this is _not_ a date.”

Dream stiffens. “It’s...” his hands tighten on the wheel, “It’s _not_. How many times do I have to _tell_ you — money isn’t a _problem_ for me, George. I have _tons_ of it, okay? Me paying for you doesn’t mean anything more than… what you’re thinking.”

“This isn’t an issue of my _wallet_ ,” George rolls his eyes, “It’s about you willingly paying for me—”

“Oh _sure_ it’s not,” Dream snorts, “Like you don’t have any attachment issues with it.”

“Attach… what?” George frowns, “I’m not _attached_ to my wallet. What does that even _mean._ ”

“So if I took it from you right now, you wouldn’t care?”

“I…” George blinks, confused by this turn of questioning, “of _course_ I’d care, what do you—”

“See? That’s an attachment.”

“Th-that’s…” George swallows, rapidly shaking his head at the misunderstanding. He doesn’t want Dream to perceive him as a vain money-grubber or anything. “It’s not _like_ that, I just… I have _important_ things in there, okay?”

“...yeah,” Dream sighs, looking oddly defeated. “Look, let’s just get back to the point. I took you out today because you said you wanted to go, and for no other reason. It’s as simple as that.”

“Yeah,” George agrees, “I wanted to go, _yesterday_. And I could’ve come myself, but you _insisted_ on taking me.”

“I’m being _nice_ ,” Dream retorts, “because you’re Sapnap’s friend.”

“It can’t just be because of that,” George breathes.

The car screeches to a halt, Dream hitting the brakes way harder than he needed to, and George lurches forward in his seatbelt. “Don’t make up things that aren’t there,” Dream hisses, his expression stone-hard but still turned away. “This was _not_ a date.”

“Yeah?” George fires back, trying to push away the tingle of doubt Dream’s words had spurred in his gut, “Look at me when you say it.”

Dream pauses, but he doesn’t do as George asks. The hope that maybe George was right starts to resurface again, until— “Get out.”

“What?” George looks out of the car, realizes they’re already back at his apartment complex. He hadn’t even noticed, too fired-up about his realization to pay attention to his surroundings, and he’s too far in to not keep pushing. “No, not until you look at me and say—”

“ _George_ ,” Dream’s inclines his face, giving him a level gaze, “It was not a date.”

George watches, waits for the blush to come, but it doesn’t. Disappointment simmers in his gut. “...oh.”

“Now get out.”

George bites his lip, mutters, “ _Fine_.” And then he’s slamming the car door behind him, not even caring about the likelihood of him damaging a possibly very expensive car. Without a second to waste, Dream is already zooming off, and even the _way_ he drives looks angry.

Even if Dream somehow managed to look at George without reacting, it’s obvious that George’s words had ticked him off somehow. George feels like he’s uncovered something that Dream could no longer bury: that between them, something was definitely _there_. Maybe it was only a spark, but that spark alone was enough to make George crazy, and something in his gut is telling him that it’s the same for Dream. Why _else_ would they keep meeting each other unprompted like this, unless the universe was trying to tell them something?

Dream could deny it all he wanted. However, George had a pretty good feeling that, even if he did nothing from this point onwards, they were undoubtedly going to see each other again.

* * *

『 _Snapmap_ 』

geooooorge

r u ignoring me?? :’(

『 _George_ 』

sigh

you’re so needy sapnap

『 _Snapmap_ 』

soooo

tell me how it went !!

『 _George_ 』

what?

『 _Snapmap_ 』

u know

how was the party??

George lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Right, the party. Of course. He’d almost forgotten about it, and automatically assumed Sapnap was talking about him and Dream’s… _non-_ date.

He really needs to stop panicking over dumb shit like this.

『 _George_ 』

it sucked

remind me to never go again

『 _Snapmap_ 』

o-o

did something happen

_Something definitely happened all right_ , George thinks dryly.

『 _George_ 』

nothing, it just sucked in general

『 _Snapmap_ 』

you should’ve told me you were going

my presence would’ve made it ten times better ✨✨

_Doubt it_ , George rolls his eyes, recalling the utter unhelpfulness of Sapnap at their first party. It was all his fault George got drunk, too — the complete _opposite_ of helpful. 

George returns to mindlessly scrolling through Dream’s feed, perking up at the sight of a few consecutive posts about restaurant dishes he’s really enjoyed. They don’t look too difficult to make, almost laughably easy in comparison to the crazy dishes George has seen in numerous other restaurants. What was it with Dream and his appreciation for simple things?

Already, George is coming up with an idea. And it’s very possibly a stupid one.

『 _George_ 』

do you think I could make ratatouille?

『 _Snapmap_ 』

oh no

* * *

When George opens his front door, expecting to see another boy scout selling cookies or a religiously affiliated person begging him to join their cult, he is mildly surprised to find Dream standing in front of his doorstep instead.

“Why are _you_ _here?_ ” George narrows his eyes, but he’s secretly quite relieved (it’s been a day, and George was starting to miss him and his stupid face). Dream still looks as magnificent as ever, despite clearly not having put any thought into his outfit, and George is quite jealous over the fact that Dream can slap on anything and still rock it like it was intended from the start.

To be fair, Dream looks just as irritated to be standing there as George is portraying himself to act. “Sapnap told me to come,” he grumbles, eyes averted. “He wants me to make sure you don’t burn the whole place down.”

Something is off. Dream is obviously _lying_ , because that twitch in his eyebrow is giving him away, but it doesn’t make any sense because he _can’t_ be lying. Namely, George _had_ briefly informed Sapnap he’d be trying to make something, and Sapnap _was_ aware that George was a… less-than-efficient cook, to put it simply. George wouldn’t put it against his friend to have hired some extra help (namely, Dream) to make sure he didn’t try to explode his kitchen, so. Everything Dream just said makes sense.

...So what was he lying about?

George isn’t sure how to ask about it, so he only sighs and lets Dream in. “You could’ve at least warned me you were coming.”

“No time,” Dream replies bluntly. “Sapnap made it sound pretty urgent.”

“Sapnap is _so_ dramatic,” George groans in rebuttal. “Why couldn’t he just come himself?”

“Busy,” Dream shrugs, making a beeline straight to George’s kitchen. Before George can ask why Dream even _agreed_ to come (how does he not have anything better to do with his life?), Dream prompts, “What’re you making?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” George admits, raising an eyebrow. Now _this_ was a sight he never would’ve expected to see: Dream is like a bright star, standing out so starkly in comparison to George’s drab kitchen. “I was just about to go out to buy ingredients and figure it out on the way.”

George thinks Dream stiffens a little, but he’s not sure. “What are the options you’re deciding between?”

George’s face heats up, upon recalling the old posts he had found of Dream praising and recommending various foods. It was what had spurred his decision to try cooking in the first place, and he originally had plans on picking from one of the posts.

But no way was he going to tell Dream that. “I _said,_ ” he crosses his arms, “I’m going to figure it out.”

Technically not a lie — he just hasn’t decided which one to do yet.

Dream shrugs. “If you’re lost on what to do, I can give you some recommendations.”

“ _Hey_ ,” George yelps, seeing Dream search (uninvited) through his drawers, “What are you _doing_.”

“Seeing what you have,” Dream answers easily, a hint of concern in his voice. “Do you not even have measuring cups?”

“...no.”

Dream lets out a dry chuckle. “You’ve never cooked a day in your life, have you?”

George makes an embarrassed sputter. “Sapnap sent you to _help_ , not to _insult_ me.” At Dream’s dismissive hum, George continues doubtfully, “Are you even _good_ at cooking?” He can’t quite imagine Dream donning an apron and sprinkling spices over a stove — it just doesn’t seem to match his image.

“‘Course I am,” is Dream’s confident reply, “You think Sapnap would send another incompetent chef just to help out an already incompetent one?”

George pauses. “Alright,” he concedes, a bit grumpily maybe, but he figures he can’t be blamed for the zero percent of trust his friends have in him. “Then what should I make?”

“Thought we were figuring it out,” Dream replies cheekily.

George groans and this time when Dream laughs, it’s a _real_ one. Not fake or hollow or humorless, but rather bright and cheerful, like little bells tinkling. It lights George’s insides with tiny butterflies, and he turns away so that Dream won’t see his smile (or his rapidly growing blush).

“Let’s go then,” he announces, starting to put on his shoes, but before he can wear them both, a hand has snatched one of them away. “ _Dream_.”

“You don’t need to go,” Dream says, an odd air of nervousness in his voice. “Just send me — I can buy the stuff we need.”

“ _Dream_ ,” George sighs, “Not this again.”

“If you’re _that_ concerned about spending my money,” Dream continues in a rush, “You can just give me your card and I’ll use that—”

“Dream,” George repeats, the edge of his mouth quirking up despite his best efforts to keep it down, “You aren’t afraid of me burning my apartment down?”

Dream blinks, his eyebrow twitching with an edge of concern. “Hm,” he mutters, like he’s actually considering George’s joke as a reality. It’s weirdly endearing, how seriously Dream takes everything. “Even if I tell you not to touch anything...?”

His concern is touching, almost. (Emphasis on the almost.) “ _Dream._ ”

“ _...fine_ ,” Dream lets out a defeated sigh, tossing George’s shoe back at him. “We go together.”

“I don’t need your permission,” George snorts, tugging on his last shoe. “I’m still going with or without your agreement.”

Dream doesn’t comment, but something about his smoldering eyes tells George that, if he wanted to, he very well _could_ keep George from going. And that in itself is enough to make George’s skin prickle with unsatiated curiosity again. 

About who Dream was. About what Dream _wanted_. And what he thought about George.

...George thinks about that last one a lot.

“Don’t walk too far from me,” Dream warns when they step outside. “And don’t cross any streets unless I do.”

George rolls his eyes at Dream’s overbearing demands. “It was _one time_ , Dream. I seriously doubt I’m going to land myself in another life-threatening situation again, so just chill.”

Dream purses his lips at the reply (and George’s gaze admittedly lingers a bit longer than it should on those lips). “Just be careful,” is all Dream says.

“...I will,” George promises, if only to appease him, because Dream looks so… _sad_ , and it’s making George’s heart hurt. He’s acting like George denying his wishes was personally insulting to him, or something. “I’ll be careful.”

“Good,” Dream sighs. “Now let’s get this stupid shopping trip over with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, me writing George without measuring cups is starting to become a theme xD


	4. Through and Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George suddenly has an idea. He bites into his chocolate slowly, sensually, letting out an exaggerated moan at the taste of caramel coating his tongue. Dream is staring, so George keeps going, humming in satisfaction, licking his lips to catch a bit of melted chocolate on the edge of his mouth, and suddenly there’s a hand gripping George’s wrist.
> 
> “Stop it,” Dream demands, his voice strained, but George just laughs.
> 
> “Stop what?”
> 
> “You know what I mean,” Dream growls, his eyes looking hungry in a way George has never seen before, “Stop doing _that_.”

“Did you preheat the oven?”

“I’m _on_ it,” George shouts back, messing around with the buttons to figure out how it works. After some struggle, he finally manages to get it set to 375 degrees (and he’s quite proud of himself for it, too).

Dream is already mincing the vegetables, his hand moving with ease and precision. It’s hypnotizing just watching him move around the kitchen, looking as if he’s right at home. It really sort of downplays George’s achievement in, _ahem_ , preheating the oven.

 _And Dream_ does _look good in an apron_ , George observes. Which is to be expected, since Dream looks good in _everything_ , even in kitchen-wear, apparently. Because his hair is medium-ish in length, he’s even tied the back up into a cute little pony-tail. _So homely_ , George thinks to himself. _He’s like, perfect husband material._

An inward groan as George realizes what his train of thought just said. _...Fucking hell._ “Whipped” is nowhere _near_ close enough to define George’s ridiculous obsession.

“George?” Dream looks up, his eyes narrowed at the oven. “There’s nothing in there, right?”

“Uh…” 

In only the blink of an eye, Dream is already opening the oven door and peering inside. “Good,” he hums after a moment, shutting it back closed. “Nothing there.”

“You really have very little faith in me,” George observes.

“Better safe than sorry,” Dream shrugs. “If you want though, you can heat up the oil.”

 _Heat up the oil…?_ “Okay,” George gulps. “I can do that.”

Dream returns to dicing his perfectly-cut peppers, and George shuffles through their grocery bags until he finds the olive oil bottle and the small measuring cups. “How much?” he calls.

“Two tablespoons!” Dream shouts over his shoulder.

George finds the measuring cup with the abbreviation that he thinks reads tablespoon, and not wanting to mess up, he carefully pours out two spoonfuls into a metal bowl. Satisfied with his work, he’s opened the microwave and is about to pop the bowl in when a hand suddenly latches onto his wrist.

“ _George_ ,” Dream’s tone is hard, “What the _fuck_ are you doing.”

 _Heating up the oil_ , is what George almost says, but Dream’s eyes are so fierce that George’s words die on his tongue.

“Are you an _idiot?_ ” Dream half-shouts, “You’re putting _metal_ into a _microwave_.”

“ _Oh,_ ” George blinks. _Right_. He legitimately forgot that was a thing — it just completely slipped his mind. An honest mistake.

“ _And,_ ” Dream glares, his grip tightening on George’s wrist, “By heating up oil, George, I meant with a _pan_.”

George stares at Dream wordlessly, thinks, _oh, I’m an idiot_ , followed by, _well, how was I supposed to know that?_ ending with, _isn’t this kind of an overreaction?_

“You’re actually hopeless,” Dream growls, taking the bowl from George’s hands. His eyes are staring daggers into the oil, and George shivers a little from how close they are to one another, one of Dream’s hands still gripping tightly to George’s arm. _Scary_ , George thinks.

 _But also really fucking hot_.

“Holy shit, _and_ you used a teaspoon,” Dream sighs. “What the hell, George.”

“Teaspoon?” George echoes, picking up the measuring cup, “But it says TSP… oh.” Man, he really fucked this up. No wonder Dream was so done with him. “Sorry.”

Dream scrutinizes George’s crestfallen expression before sighing. “It’s okay,” he manages, even if the tone of his voice clearly disagrees. “Can I at least trust you to cut the vegetables without killing yourself?”

George nods feebly and Dream leads him to the chopping board. After demonstrating what George should do, giving some basic instructions between steps, he gingerly sets down the knife and steps aside to let George go. George copies what Dream did to the best of his ability, and though his attempts look nothing close to the perfection of Dream’s slices, Dream seems satisfied enough to leave him to do the rest.

When George has finished cutting all the eggplants, tomatoes, squash, and zucchinis, he turns and catches Dream looking at him. Of course, Dream is quick to turn away and pretend he wasn’t, but it’s okay, because just knowing Dream was looking is enough for George‘s insides to make a happy hum.

“Why does that smell so _good?_ ”

“It’s the sauce,” Dream explains when George walks over to investigate. It’s a red paste (George _assumes_ it’s red, at least) with little bits of Dream’s diced vegetables sticking out of it, smoothed neatly across the entire pan. “We can add the slices you cut now.”

“I didn’t mess up this time,” George feels required to say, but Dream doesn’t glare or anything, only giving a small smile.

“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t.”

The two work together to lay out the sliced vegetables in alternating patterns above the sauce, elbowing each other and mock-fighting a bit when their rows overlap, and George can’t help it: he’s grinning from ear to ear, laughing at Dream’s stupid zuchinni-smiley ruining the whole pattern he’d worked so hard to arrange.

“I might suck at cooking,” George comments as Dream pops their masterpiece into the oven, “But you have _no_ art sense.”

“Excuse me,” Dream laughs, “I have _amazing_ art skills.”

“Well, your stupid _zuchinni_ _face_ is literally proving you wrong.”

Dream wheezes a little at George’s indignant expression, and George’s chest bursts into happy fireflies. The guarded, on-edge look Dream always had on him was finally gone. The awkward wall that used to stand between them was now completely dissolved away, almost like it was never there to begin with. 

Dream finally stops laughing, says, “I guess we’ll have to wait and see about that, huh?”

Oh, right. “How long will it take?”

“Um, about an hour? We need to check back on it in forty to remove the foil, though.”

Dang. A whole hour just for them. George tries not to let his excitement show too clearly as Dream scrolls through his phone, probably to set a timer. “Okay. Now what?”

Dream is already shuffling through their grocery bags, as if he has something in mind. The moment he produces the heart-shaped box, George feels himself snorting. He remembers how insistent Dream had been on grabbing the dumb chocolates (it had honestly been pretty cute), and had simply attributed it to Dream having a sweet-tooth.

“Want some?” Dream offers upon opening the box, and that’s when George sees it: the return of the blush, living on Dream’s cheeks completely rent-free. But he doesn’t say anything about it, only smiling as he plucks a red chocolate from the untouched box.

“You really like sweets, don’t you?” Dream gives a noncommittal hum, which George assumes is a yes. He pops the chocolate into his mouth, humming in contentment from the sweet taste spreading over his tongue. “Do you have a favorite?”

“Kisses,” Dream answers instantly, and when George blushes, Dream awkwardly coughs into his fist. “Sorry,” he apologizes, “bad habit.”

“Bad habit,” George echoes (trying in vain to erase the image of kissing Dream from his head), “of _flirting?_ ”

“Yeah.” At least he has the decency to look embarrassed. “Comes with the package.” _Of being a player_. The words get left unsaid, but George is pretty sure both of them heard it.

But unlike what Dream is probably thinking, George likes the sound of that. A package with Dream and flirting together sounded exactly like something George would want. “What would I have to do,” George prompts, stealing another chocolate from Dream’s box, “to get that package?”

“George.” Dream is using a warning tone, but George pretends not to hear it.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, tilting his downwards so he can look at Dream through his eyelashes, “Tell me the truth: what do you think of me?”

“Nothing,” Dream replies, but his second of hesitation prior doesn’t go unnoticed.

George squints his eyes, says, “You’re obviously lying.”

Dream squares his shoulders defiantly. “Am I?”

George suddenly has an idea. He bites into his chocolate slowly, sensually, letting out an exaggerated moan at the taste of caramel coating his tongue. Dream is staring, so George keeps going, humming in satisfaction, licking his lips to catch a bit of melted chocolate on the edge of his mouth, and suddenly there’s a hand gripping George’s wrist.

“Stop it,” Dream demands, his voice strained, but George just laughs.

“Stop what?”

“You know what I mean,” Dream growls, his eyes looking hungry in a way George has never seen before, “Stop doing _that_.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb,” Dream snorts, plucking the half-uneaten chocolate out of George’s hand. “You’re being an idiot — just stop it.”

“Then _make_ me.”

Dream freezes, his eyes darting to George’s lips at the same moment he bites it, and suddenly there’s tension in the room, electricity darting between them, heat rising in George’s gut. Dream is looking at him with fire in his eyes, suddenly standing so close that George can feel his breath on his cheek, would only need to tip-toe to connect their mouths.

But then Dream’s ringtone cuts into the air, and before George can even register it, Dream is shoving him away. “ _No_ George,” he says, his voice shaking, “We can’t.”

“ _..._ what?” Dream is backing away from him, and when George tries latching onto his hand, Dream only snatches it away like it’s been burned, and George feels his heart crack. Everything had been fine: they were finally comfortable with each other, they almost even _kissed_ just then, but suddenly Dream was withdrawing into himself… _again_. “ _Dream_ , I don’t… I don’t _understand_.”

“You don’t need to understand,” Dream glowers, declining the call on his phone. “I said _no_ , George.”

“Maybe you’re verbally saying no,” George argues. He _knows_ what almost happened just now wasn’t a fluke. “Maybe you don’t want to admit it to yourself, but I can _see_ it Dream, I’m not fucking _blind_. Because I—” George swallows, “I _want_ you, Dream. And I _know_ you want me too.”

“How can you—” Dream chokes on his words, turns his head away, “You do _not_ know that. I haven’t _done anything_ for you to say that.”

“You saved me,” George breathes, a list already forming in his head as he follows Dream to the front door, “from the face of _death_ , Dream, and you’re always looking out for me, you’re always kind even if you act like it’s nothing, and you’re always _way_ too overprotective for someone who tries to pretend he doesn’t care—”

Dream shuts his eyes. “Protectiveness and love aren’t the same thing,” he snaps tiredly, his cheeks flushed an angry red as he harshly tugs on his shoes. _He’s leaving_ , George realizes in disbelief, _in the middle of this? Really?_

George exhales. “I don’t care.”

Dream’s expression is of disbelief. “You don’t _care?_ ”

“You don’t have to love me,” George stares back, unwavering in his decision, the image of Dream trapping a man against the wall flickering at the back of his mind. “I know it’s not really your thing, to be permanently attached to someone, and I’m okay with that. I don’t _care_ if I’m not permanent Dream, I just— I don’t _care_ if you’re a player. I literally don’t care. I just want _you_.”

The air becomes dead silent. For a second, George lets himself feel hopeful. Maybe he’s finally reached Dream, and maybe Dream would cave in, come wrap George in his arms and passionately kiss him, just like he’s always dreamed of. It’d be fake, but at least in that moment, Dream could be _his_. And George could be Dream’s, too.

But the mirage shatters when Dream tugs the door open, a blast of cold air infiltrating George’s apartment. “Goodbye George,” Dream says. “Don’t let the ratatouille burn.”

And just like that, he was gone.

* * *

_He should’ve at least stayed to help me eat this,_ George frowns at the pan of ratatouille sitting on his stove. He took it out early just in case, since Dream was the one that set the timer and George personally had no clue how long it’s been in there for. Just looking at the sloppy zucchini-smile Dream made is making George’s heart do sad flip-flops in his chest.

 _I wonder where it all went wrong_ , he thinks bitterly, poking at the vegetables with a fork. It looks uncooked. George literally had zero sense when it came to cooking, and losing the only viable chef in the household really wasn’t helping his case. Maybe he should put it back and just try checking it every ten minutes…?

A song suddenly starts playing, and George has heard it far too many times by now to not recognize it straight away. _It’s Dream’s ringtone_ , George thinks blatantly, eyeing the phone on his counter with surprise. Dream must’ve left it behind in his haste to leave.

And, deathly curious as to finally finding out the identity of Dream’s mysterious caller, George quickly strides over and realizes two things simultaneously:

One, that the song is in fact _not_ a ringtone, but rather a personally-set sound for an alarm (probably the timer for the ratatouille, George guesses).

And two, that this song that allegedly bothers Dream — upon reaching the lyrics for the first time, George finally realizes — this very song was none other than _Roxanne_.

* * *

George doesn’t know why, but he’s been listening to _Roxanne_ for the past twenty-four hours. 

Maybe it was because it bothered Dream, and George liked knowing he was listening to something that would irk him. Maybe it was because listening to it reminded him of the restaurant where they had their cute non-date together. Maybe it was purely because it was the last thing Dream left him, before so rudely leaving.

_🎵Met her at a party in the hills, yeah🎵_

_🎵She just wanna do it for the thrill, yeah🎵_

Or maybe it was because George felt like he understood Dream better listening to it. And truly, George wanted to understand Dream. Maybe he should be angrier, that Dream was living in such denial, that he completely left George in the dust to fend off his own thoughts, but… this was _Dream_ they were talking about. Dream, who was confusing, and beautiful, and a complete idiot. Dream, who George just _couldn’t_ stop thinking about.

For probably a couple hours now, George has been splayed out across the floor, unmoving and lost in his thoughts. But now it feels like he’s been here too long — like the room is too suffocating, like he’s wasting away by sinking into this never-ending hole of thinking about Dream. Of waiting for someone that won’t come back.

So he picks himself up and gets out.

It’s dark outside, but surprisingly not that cold. George walks aimlessly, lets himself be distracted by the sound of _Roxanne_ exiting his earbuds. Every once in a while he looks over his shoulder, half-expecting Dream to randomly pop up like he did that day of the party. Of course, it never happens. 

But it doesn’t stop George from hoping.

_🎵She don’t wait in lines if it’s too long🎵_

_🎵She don’t drive the whip unless the roof off🎵_

Some unknown stretch of time later, and George pauses next to a giant parking garage. For a second, he humors himself with the idea of running to the top and Dream suddenly appearing to stop him, simply because George is “putting himself in danger.”

It was only supposed to be an idea. A meaningless side-thought.

George starts climbing the stairs.

Maybe about a dozen flights and some very shaky legs later, George reaches the top. The wind is a little stronger up here, but George supposes being closer to the stars makes up for it. It’s just as he guessed: even on the roof, the most protection the building has against falling is a simple stout wall lining the edges. It’d be enough to stop children from falling off, but for someone like George, it wouldn’t even be a challenge to climb over.

So George plops his ass onto that wall, and he waits.

_🎵Roxanne, Roxanne, all she wanna do is party all night🎵_

_This is so stupid,_ he thinks to himself, freely kicking his legs over the empty air, as if doing so could somehow shake out the hollowness he feels inside his chest. _It’s not like Dream’s actually going to show up because of this._

It’s still nice to imagine, anyway. It wouldn’t be any different from these past few days, where every encounter with Dream had just felt like a confusing mirage, a mere figment of his imagination. The heated stares, the stolen glances — did those even actually happen? Who was George to say what was real and what wasn’t?

Suddenly, George feels it: the soft pitter-patter of rain on his skin, the beginnings of a shower. _Well shit,_ he thinks, _I should probably get under a roof, huh._

George swings one of his legs back over the wall, but the motion was clumsy, causing his foot to knock against the stone. His glasses also come dislodged from his forehead from the suddenness of the movement. It slips through his fingers as he tries to catch it, bouncing off his knee. George doesn’t think, blindly reaching out to grab it mid-air—

And suddenly a force is colliding into his back, strong arms wrapping around his torso, preventing him from reaching his glasses when they were just _inches_ away, and George can only watch helplessly as his spectacles disappear into the night. “My— my _glasses_ ,” he gasps, ”why…?!”

“ _George_ ,” comes the choked voice, and George freezes. _No way_ , he blinks, staring at the arms wrapped around his front, _No fucking way._

“...Dream?” he whispers, hardly able to believe it.

“George, _George._ ” That’s Dream, voice so torn and broken, his hands so desperately clinging to George’s jacket. _Dream_ , who George thought he’d never see again. “I’m so sorry George, I thought you— I _almost_ didn’t save you, I almost _failed_ you, I’m such a fucking idiot, I-I’m so sorry, I‘m—”

“ _Dream?_ ” George echoes in shock, allows himself to be dragged away from the edge, “What are you…?”

But Dream continues to babble, unresponsive to George’s prompt. “It’s all my fault,” he cries out, ”that you almost— if only I watched you better, if only I didn’t _leave_ you, you wouldn’t have, _shit_ , this wouldn’t have—“

“Dream, _Dream_ ,” George stops him, his heart beating right out of his chest. “You’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”

“I almost _lost_ you,” Dream sobs, and George’s heart stills when he finally sees the tears, which he had originally mistaken for rainwater. Dream, expression twisted in pain, his body wracked with grief… right in front of him, the supposedly heartless and stone-willed Dream was _crying_.

And even broken like this, completely vulnerable and cracked open, drenched in rainfall that was only getting stronger by the second: George thought Dream looked beautiful.

“Dream, I’m—“ George is at a loss for words as Dream clutches him harder, burying his face into George’s clavicle. He can only hug back to reassure him, but _god_ he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t confused. “I’m _alive_ , Dream, it’s… it’s _okay_.”

“You don’t— you don’t _understand_ ,” Dream whimpers, fingers gripping tightly onto George, his entire body shaking, “You’re _always_ in danger George, but I… I can _never_ protect you, a-and you always…”

“But I feel safe because of you,” George reminds him gently, “Look, I’m not in danger right now, am I?”

Dream seems to think about this for a second before nodding feebly. It seemed to be the right question to ask, because ever so slowly, Dream’s shuddering stops and his ragged breathing calms down. “You’re fine,” he states, as if he’s trying to convince himself.

“I’m fine,” George confirms.

Dream takes a steadying breath and nods. “Okay,” he sniffs, wiping at his cheeks with his palms, “Thank you, I’m… I’m okay now.”

There are so many things George wants to know. He wants to ask how Dream knew where he was, wants to ask what spurred this abrupt change in attitude, wants to know what Dream meant by all those things he said. But… “Let’s get out of this rain first,” is what George decides on, “It’s _freezing._ ”

Dream lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah let’s… let’s do that,” he agrees. His voice is soft. _So_ soft. George had never heard this tone before, wonders if Dream's voice has always been like this, if he had perhaps only been hiding it all this time. Wonders, again, _why_ he's been hiding it in the first place.

“Don’t think I’m letting you off,” George warns, not letting go of Dream since Dream doesn’t seem to want to let go of him either. “You’re gonna have to answer a _lot_ of questions.”

Clear hesitation. “I-I don’t think we should…”

“ _Dream_.” George squeezes Dream’s shoulders, tries to convey his quiet concern. “Don’t baby me — just tell me the truth. I want to hear everything, I… I want to _understand._ ”

Dream pauses only a second longer before drooping his head with defeat, admitting with a weary sigh, “It’s going to be a long story.”

“Well,” George smiles, relieved they were finally getting somewhere, “We’ll have all of waiting for this storm to blow over to hear it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aHHHH
> 
> And yeah that's gonna be it for Pt.1 of this series :D In case you couldn't guess, Pt.2 will be in Dream's POV and that's gonna be a real _spicy_ one, so be sure to either sub to me or this series to be notified when I publish it!!
> 
> Thx so much for reading (leave a kudos if you enjoyed!), and I'll be seeing you verrrrry soon~

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](https://peppdream.tumblr.com/) ~


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